


Tune-Up

by ExpatGirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Car repair, Coffee, Fluff, Gen, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, Men of Letters Bunker, POV Sam Winchester, Season/Series 11, Team Free Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 23:09:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5068429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExpatGirl/pseuds/ExpatGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Take three people who are terrible with using their words, add love, coffee and the joy of car maintenance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tune-Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BurningTea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurningTea/gifts).



> Here you are, [BurningTea](http://archiveofourown.org/users/BurningTea/pseuds/BurningTea)! A little domestic fluff to brighten your day.

Sam noticed a definite pattern. He would return from his morning run to find the bunker seemingly empty. He’d emerge later from the shower to find Cas staring at the coffeemaker as though it was grace-powered.

“This is much more basic than the one I used at the store,” Cas had said, the first time. “And yet the results are so inconsistent.” Now he stood shirtsleeved each morning in the kitchen, brooding at the machine and explaining what variation he’d tried this time. Sam offered advice after the second day, and Cas had squeezed his shoulder as he’d said _thank you_ , as though Sam had given him something important.

Then, Cas would pour three very precise cups. He’d hand one to Sam with a warm smile and a sincere _let me know what you think_ , and disappear with the other two into the garage. Hours later, Dean would appear, coated in grease and motor oil, and Cas would follow soon after, holding two empty mugs.

After the fourth day of increasingly-excellent but solitary coffee, Sam had snuck down there. He wasn’t sure what he expected to find, but two sets of soles (rugged work boot nudging impractical Chelsea boot) emerging from under the chassis of a 58 year old Thunderbird was definitely not it. He stopped abruptly, trying not to listen to the muffled conversation rumbling up from the floor, and made to go back into the kitchen as noiselessly as he could.

Cas pulled him up short with a pleasant: “Hello, Sam,” and he saw Dean become very still where he lay.

“Hey guys,” Sam said, smiling a little. “I, uh, just wanted to say, Cas, this is the best coffee you’ve made so far.”

Cas slid smoothly out from under the car and sat up on the creeper board. His sleeves were now rolled up, but his shirt and tie still looked immaculate.“Do you think so? There are a few other things I want to try.”

“It’s great. Better than mine, even.” He smiled as Cas beamed up at him.

“Oh, good. Dean always drinks mine, anyway.”

Dean surfaced a moment later on another board, looking much less immaculate and slightly red of face. “Hey, you don’t even _drink_ , but you’re always down here with two mugs,” he said. “Why is that, anyway?”

“Well, drinking coffee is a communal activity,” Cas said reasonably, getting up and helping Dean to his feet. He kept their hands clasped for a few seconds after they were both standing. Dean didn’t seem to notice. “I enjoy that aspect, even if I don’t actually have an opinion on the coffee itself.” He paused, rolling down his sleeves and straightening his tie. “Plus, I like giving you things.”

Dean didn’t have anything to say to that, evidently. He wiped his hands on his jeans and turned to the open hood of the car. “Yeah,” he said. “Anyway, it’s real good coffee, Cas. Now, remember what I was saying yesterday, about the engine block?”

“That you’re going to have to strip it back to the bolts and rebuild it and that half of it was corroded to hell?”

“Well, yeah…”

“Dean, I can fix it,” Cas said. “Just tell me what each part needs to do and I’ll make it do that.”

“No, man, that’s cheating,” Dean said, half-amused, half-appalled. “The whole point is, you need to know how to do this in case your grace goes all out of whack again and something happens to your car.”

“Wait, you’re giving Cas the Thunderbird?” Sam asked.

Dean jumped slightly. Apparently he’d forgotten Sam was there.

“Well yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “The Continental’s still out there in _GTA: Metatron_ , and Cas needs to have _something_ while his wings are on the mend. But it’s got to be road-worthy.” He turned back to the exposed engine block. “I mean, you could always ride with us, you know,” he added, quietly.

“I’d like that.” Cas turned to face the car, too, and Sam watched their backs stoop slightly as they looked. “But you’re right: I do need my own vehicle. What if Claire calls? I can’t ask you two to drop everything and chauffeur me.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Dean said, though Sam barely heard it.

Cas’ hand found Dean’s shoulder, then slid down to his forearm. “I appreciate that.”

“But you’re right,” Dean said, more forcefully. “A car’s important. You’ve already had your wings clipped once, stealing your car was just adding insult to injury. Screw that guy. Let’s get you on the road.”

“Alright.”

Sam left with the empty coffee cups and returned a few moments later with a book under his arm. He found an old metal stool and, after testing its integrity, settled into it. He opened the book and listened to the clink and scrape of metal on metal and the soft confidence of Dean’s voice as he pointed out various mechanical intricacies to Cas, knowing that he would learn them far more quickly than Sam ever did.

He fell to his reading in the companionable semi-silence of the garage. He became so absorbed that it was a shock when his stomach alerted him that it was well past time for food.

“Hey, you guys?” he asked, marking his page. “Lunch break?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean said, straightening with a groan. “Good idea, Sammy.” He massaged his lower back with irritated fingers, working at a habitual kink there. “Cas, you mind, uh…”

“Of course not.” He placed his hand where Dean’s had been, and Dean let out a sigh.

“Thanks, man. Getting older is not much fun.”

“I’m glad you both have the chance,” Cas said. “And that I’m here to see it.”

“Uh, yeah,” Sam said, when it became clear that Dean was simply going to stare at Cas’ face in lieu of answering. “Us, too.”

Cas smiled again, small, but genuine. “Come on. You need to eat. Tomorrow we’ll start on prepping the trunk, right, Dean?”

“Absolutely.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not watching S11 (I might do, later), so I've only _heard_ that Metatron stole Cas' car (what a dick!).  
>  I'm 98% positive that the sweet green sports car in the garage is a 1957 Ford Thunderbird, but if anyone knows different, please let me know so I can amend this!
> 
> ETA: 57 T-bird confirmed. Also, pretend that two grown men on creeper boards could fit underneath one of these cars, okay?


End file.
